An Affair to Remember
by DreamaLirit
Summary: Bellatrix and Voldemort have had a unique relationship as long as they've known each other. It begins before war is even thought of, and ends with an unexpected flash of light.


She did not remember how the whole affair had started. It had been before she married Rodolphus, she was sure, and it had continued to this day. Her husband knew and took pity on her, imagining her as victim of his Lordship and not a lover. Of course the word lover could not really be applied to Lord Voldemort, as all knew he was incapable of love.

It had begun when she was nineteen, and being engaged to Rodolphus, he had brought her to a Death Eater meeting. She had been enthralled by the ideas of the man at the head of the table, and only a few months later, mere weeks before her wedding, had taken the Dark Mark.

He had demanded a physical relationship from her, as the only female Death Eater and one of his most loyal. She knew he was not mortal but he was a man, or at least a brain trapped inside a male body, and that body required certain things. He never asked permission of Rodolphus nor tried to keep their relationship a secret, as he was in charge and could do what he wanted. Everyone cowered for him and his needs.

She'd been a virgin, had blushed when he touched her and cried when he took her. He had not asked her beforehand and merely caressed her cheek gently afterward and said she would get used to it.

_ Get used to it._ She had thought he meant get used to sex, which she had expected to get better, easier, more pleasant, with time. If anything, it got worse. He was rough, which wasn't bad, until he made it hurt. She ended up weeping on her wedding night and telling Rodolphus everything. Really she had too, having begged him not to touch her, not to make it hurt. If there was one thing Bellatrix wasn't good at handling, it was delicate physical pain.

She had grown up privileged, had taken pills, potions, or powders at the slightest onset of discomfort. There were things she had gotten used to, and she had relished the pain of taking the Dark Mark. This was different though, for some reason.

Rodolphus had handled it well, all things considered, and had calmed her down enough for them to consummate their marriage. He hadn't been angry, much to her relief, and although she did not love him, they were friends. Every now and again they made love and she took simple pleasure in the act, knowing there would be no pain, a small peak of pleasure, and then blissful sleep.

The Dark Lord did not have her on a schedule, or she would have at least been able to prepare herself accordingly. Her mark would merely burn in the night, and she would rise, dress, and go. He would be waiting impatiently, would snarl that she had taken too long. With a flick of his wand he would undress her; she would walk to the bed, and let him do what he liked.

Sometimes he would let her stay the night, curled up beneath the pewter sheets. He'd light a fire, dress, do paperwork at a desk or sit in an armchair and talk softly with Nagini. Other nights he would clear his throat, look at her pointedly, caresses whatever was in reach, and she would know to leave.

He ensured she never had a child, and perhaps because she was fed so many anti-conception potions, was charmed with so many birth control spells, her and her husband never conceived either. It was for the best really, she wasn't sure how much time she could spare for a child with war coming and the Dark Lord needing her attentions.

The relationship continued as her nephew, Draco, aged, and one time he was almost their undoing. The Dark Lord had been particularly impatient that day, had ambushed her in the bathroom and yanked up her skirts without asking. Little Draco, just learning to walk and talk, had toddled by the closed (but not locked) door. They'd heard his little palms collide with the wood and his determined grunts to push it open and unveil whatever was behind it. At that moment though, his mother scooped him up and carried him away down the corridor.

This all flashed before her as they stood in the woods, Harry Potter slain, their Lord victorious at last. Would he well and properly make love to her that night, painless and beautiful? Or would he be extra rough? Or perhaps he wouldn't summon her at all, would be too absorbed in taking control of all that was now his as he had once been with her body.

The half-giant carried the lifeless boy to the steps of Hogwarts, presented him the crowd, and the ultimatum was made. The Longbottom boy sprung out of nowhere to give a rallying speech. It was useless though, the Death Eaters knew, and Bella smirked to herself at their stupidity, at their tears.

But then he beheaded Nagini, Potter came back to life, and the powers clashed again throughout the castle. There was running, screaming, wand waving. And Bellatrix Lestrange found herself battling the portly, kindly, Molly Weasley. Even her name sounded inferior, and the dark haired madwoman couldn't help but cackle.

Then the spell struck her. She had just a few moments left to think, no time left to breathe or act. She fell as if in slow motion, her thoughts lightning fast and sluggishly slow.

Her last thought was of Voldemort next to her in bed that first time, his hand gently wiping the wetness from her cheeks, telling her his plans for the world. She watched those plans, and her heartbeat, fade to blackness.


End file.
